Encerrando os textos sobre a Mostra, a agradável estreia em longas-metragem  do diretor de video clipes Marc Webb “(500) Dias com Ela” ((500) Days of Summer, 2009), ele também divide o roteiro com Scott Neustadter).

Quando um filme fala sobre relacionamentos, com ‘pitadas’ de humor para suavizar a trama ‘melodramática’, sempre estampa-se a rótulo de comédia-romântica. “500″ não foge a risca, mas está acima da média, exatamente por trazer elementos próximos da realidade, sem deixar de utilizar todos os recursos que uma montagem bem elaborada pode trazer.

O sucesso de ‘500′ começa pela ótima escolha do elenco, Summer (Zooey Deschanel) está perfeita como o objeto de desejo do romântico e sensível Tom (Joseph Gordon-Levitt). Zooey, que esteve totalmente perdida em “Fim dos Tempos” (The Happening, 2008), assim como tudo naquele filme, e foi muito bem como par romântico de Jim Carrey em “Sim Senhor” (Yes Man, 2008), volta aqui encarnando todos os sonhos possíveis em forma de mulher que Tom ousara ter na vida. O que da credibilidade a Summer é justamente seu olhar, que cativa pela beleza, mas demonstra claramente uma certa desilusão que a personagem carrega dentro de si. Tom por sua vez, traz uma carga emocional forte, como vemos em toda ‘história da humanidade’, os românticos que idealizam uma musa, e só enxergam ela como solução para todos os seus problemas. Em contrapartida são justamente as cenas de humor dele que ‘ganham’ o publico.

A montagem sabiamente apresentada de forma não-cronológica, cria paralelos entre períodos distintos do relacionamento entre Tom e Summer, os contrastes na vida dele ficam mais evidentes, tantos os momentos de felicidade como de tristeza. Se fosse diferente, provavelmente teríamos trechos excessivamente melancólicos, e outros extremamente ‘bonitinhos’. A sequência inicial é digna de aplausos, com a bela música “Us” de Regina Spektor, dividindo tela ao meio, apresentando os dois personagens ao mesmo tempo (recurso muito bem utilizado em outro ponto alto do filme).

A trilha sonora (que participa da trama) tem Smiths, a camiseta de Tom estampa Joy Division, o Beatle preferido de Summer não é Paul nem John (um dos encantos de Summer, ela não é uma garota comum), os próprios personagens cantam Clash e Pixies. “500″ não poupa elementos da cultura pop/rock para que os nossos ‘neurônios-espelho’ entrem em ação e sejamos cativados. Aliás, tantos os personagens como os acontecimentos do filme, por serem claramente inspirados em pessoas reais, deixam aquela sensação de que você já viveu coisas semelhantes, ou conhece alguém que é igual ao Tom, ou mesmo se acha parecido com o jeito gracioso de Summer, entre outras ‘coincidências’.

O interessante, site oficial nacional.

Como meu dever oficial, segue abaixo o trailer, mas não recomendo que assistam aqueles que gostam de pequenas surpresas. Aqui tem várias.

‘Para não dizer que não falei das flores’, Zooey além de atriz é cantora, possui uma banda/dupla com o guitarrista e produtor M. Ward chamada She & Him. Esta ‘brincadeira’ de Zooey começou em outro filme “The Go-Getter”, 2008, quando o diretor a convidou para fazer dupla com Ward na musica dos créditos finais. Ela canta tem uma banda em “Sim Senhor”, da uma ‘palhinha’ em “500″, além de ter cantado em “Um Duende em Nova York” (Elf,2003). No post anterior sobre a música “(What’s so funny ’bout) Love Peace and Understanding”, tem uma participação dela na super banda de Elvis Costello.

O clip da música “Why Do You Me Stay Here?” feito especialmente para promover o filme. A música eu não curti muito, mas a dança deles é legal.

Das apresentações de She & Him que encontrei, a que mais gostei foi esta versão de “You Really Got a Hold on Me” dos Beatles.

Para finalizar a musica dos Smiths presente no filme.

In a nutshell, fashion marketing is a profession that takes the latest trends and designs in clothing and communicates them to a target market in such a way that the consumer is not only aware of the product, but wants to and ultimately does buy the product. A target market is a sector of the consumer market to which a company wishes to sell (i.e. market) its clothing. To fully know what fashion marketing is, it is important to understand that marketing does not stop at ads in magazines or commercials on TV. The world of marketing is just as dynamic as the world of fashion. Marketing clothing includes elements such as determining which stores the apparel should be sold in, what price the clothing should be sold for—all the way to how the in-store displays should look. Fashion marketers often are as savvy about business as they are about fashion and popular culture.

Fashion marketers are creative. At the core, the profession is about connecting with the image—the lifestyle—the consumer wants. For example, in the fashion industry, comfort, style, material, color, symmetry, and usability are just the beginning of a list of elements designers must consider when developing a line of clothing. Fashion marketers take the task a step further by determining the best way to promote the characteristics of the clothing to the consumer and to which group of consumers to promote it to. What a 65 year-old female is looking for from a piece of formal eveningwear is completely different from what a 21 year-old male wants from casual everyday wear. Consequently, fashion marketers must stay abreast with the latest fashions as well as know what styles will be successful for a variety of occasions, age groups and demographics.

Fashion marketers play an essential role within the fashion industry because they are the link between designers and the public. The success of a line of clothing does not rest solely on its design. Often, successful marketing is just as crucial, if not more so, to the line as the actual clothing itself. This is because marketing is the tool through which the designer identifies with the public, and the public identifies with the designer. Without this exchange, it would be difficult to establish the consumer base required to have a successful line of clothing.

Ultimately, fashion marketing is a fun profession—changing and reinventing itself just as often as the clothes it promotes. It integrates the artistic nature of fashion with the creative aspects of business—making for a highly rewarding career to the ambitious and innovative.

Will Smith is a fashion icon that is adored and popular for his singing, acting and his fashionable style. He was born in Philadelphia in 1968 to a school administrator mom, and a refrigeration engineer dad. He became a big star on his popular television sitcom ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel Air’. Back then, he was seen wearing neon colors, hats worn backwards, baggy pants, and jackets turned inside out and different other mismatched outfits. He does not know it then, but he would later become one of the most noticed and adored African American celebrities ever to come to Hollywood.

Will Smith really became a big name in the Hollywood world for his killer style and killer looks after the movie ‘Men in Black’. This is because of his tall stature, wide broad shoulders, and his pearly white teeth. It is also because of the fashionable clothes that he expresses, or perhaps the positive fashion influence he gets from his very beautiful wife, Jada Pinkett-Smith.

Another definite must have in Will Smith’s fashion style is the bling bling or flashy jewelry that he wears. He likes wearing big, blaring flashy gold necklaces that has become a big thing for men. You may even see him wearing a diamond ring and then some on his big muscular hands. Will’s style is unique because he adds sophistication and class with his cutting edge jeweled theme. He will be seen wearing a sleek dark fitted suit mixed with a perfect tie that matches it along with his dazzling gold accessories.

Will Smith is a fashion icon that is adored and popular for his singing, acting and his fashionable style. He was born in Philadelphia in 1968 to a school administrator mom, and a refrigeration engineer dad. He became a big star on his popular television sitcom ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel Air’. Back then, he was seen wearing neon colors, hats worn backwards, baggy pants, and jackets turned inside out and different other mismatched outfits. He does not know it then, but he would later become one of the most noticed and adored African American celebrities ever to come to Hollywood.

Will Smith really became a big name in the Hollywood world for his killer style and killer looks after the movie ‘Men in Black’. This is because of his tall stature, wide broad shoulders, and his pearly white teeth. It is also because of the fashionable clothes that he expresses, or perhaps the positive fashion influence he gets from his very beautiful wife, Jada Pinkett-Smith.

Another definite must have in Will Smith’s fashion style is the bling bling or flashy jewelry that he wears. He likes wearing big, blaring flashy gold necklaces that has become a big thing for men. You may even see him wearing a diamond ring and then some on his big muscular hands. Will’s style is unique because he adds sophistication and class with his cutting edge jeweled theme. He will be seen wearing a sleek dark fitted suit mixed with a perfect tie that matches it along with his dazzling gold accessories.

the rainfalls down on a humdrum town sometimes you like it but not now not how the wind howls forcing an angry beat upon pane of death ears what use is a telephone for you? bell chimes angrily how i wish never to have invented thou no amount of moaning or screeching will stop the rain it goes on the cumulated clouds precipitating down toward earth sodding and bogging it causing new shews to sink you step and pull the thought occours that you could be there forever one day some tepid explorers will find some shins sticking out of the ground lord knows where the rest of you went gnawing lambs ravaging doves?

Ontem fui assistir 500 days of summer… Gostei bastante, foge do estereótipo mulher romântica que quer compromisso sempre…
Não sei se foi o melhor filme para eu assistir neste momento, quer dizer, eu entendi a moral da história, mas queria que fosse diferente =)
Ahhh! A trilha sonora é bacana, vai de The Smiths a Carla Bruni. Vale a pena assistir.

A maioria das comédias românticas sempre me parece chinfrim. E a razão é simples assim: geralmente não me identifico com o amor que elas apresentam.

Identificação, então, parece ser o segredo. Se o amor se parece com aquele que você um dia sentiu, ou ainda sente, então o filme já segue em vias de ganhar o seu coração.

“500 Dias Com Ela” me ganhou fácil. A primeira troca de olhares, os diálogos no elevador, as tentativas frustradas no escritório, o karaokê, o número de dança, a expectativa X realidade… tudo muito similar ao meu jeito de amar. Um jeito nerd, sofrido, bobo e bonito. E sincero, ainda que equivocado.

Os dias, se vão e vêm (mas nem tanto assim), vão e vêm assim talvez porque é assim que eles seguem nos amores da gente também. Relembramos cousas, refazemos outras na nossa mente, lamentamos erros e sorrimos com os acertos de antes do grande erro. É bem assim. E se bem contado, com simpatia, dedicação, capricho e uma ou outra piração, tanto melhor. E se os atores abraçam a causa e se fazem amantes com jeito de gente que ama de verdade, perfeito. Porque assim, a identificação com o amor exibido faz nascer o amor verdadeiro… por um filme assim.

((500) Days Of Summer – 2009) - Trailer
Direção: Marc Webb
Roteiro: Scott Neustadter e Michael H. Webber
Elenco: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Zoey Deschanel

In today’s edition of The Sun, Jane Moore argues that Morrissey was wrong to walk out of his concert in Liverpool last weekend. He had started the gig and was on to the second song when a bottle, thrown by an audience member, hit him in the face.

Morrissey walked off and never came back to complete the concert.

Moore claims that ‘in her day’ the Sex Pistols actively encouraged missiles, and when she once saw The Damned you could see saliva dripping from the face of Dave Vanian – and it was not his own saliva. Clearly Moore is a punk aficionado and believes that the artist should accept whatever the audience (literally) throws at them. She claims Morrissey protests too much.

But is it really acceptable anymore for an audience to behave like this?

Back in the days that Jane Moore talks about, Joe Strummer ended up with hepatitis after a fan gobbed in his face. Is that really the kind of concert atmosphere we should look on with rose-tinted glasses?

I remember once seeing Buzzcocks and witnessing a beer can narrowly missing the face of singer Pete Shelley. He stopped playing for a moment and asked everyone in the crowd who was thinking about throwing something at the band to ‘do it now so we get it over with’… hundreds, maybe thousands, of missiles suddenly rained upon the stage. Then the gig carried on… and there were no more beer cans lobbed at the band.

Because, in practical and rather obvious terms, it’s dangerous. The artist is usually facing lights and can’t see missiles as they approach. The crowd has an unfair advantage in targeting a singer on stage half-blinded by a number of spotlights. Most venues these days prevent glass from being brought inside or purchased, but a plastic beer bottle that’s mostly full weighs about half a kilo. Try getting someone to throw a half kilo weight at your face and see if it’s a laughing matter.

Add to that the fact that a concert stage is jammed full of electrical equipment and wires. It’s no fun for the roadies and engineers to try breaking up the show when all their equipment is covered in beer, water, and whatever else… and it may even be positively shocking. For a band lower down the food chain than Morrissey, that may be the only amplifier they can afford and to have someone chucking a pint of lager on it could be a financial disaster that messes up their next gig.

I understand Jane Moore’s sentiment, but I don’t think she has really thought it through. Or maybe she is commenting as someone who used to attend concerts and has not been to a gig in decades, so it would never affect her anyway.

“I want my albums back.”

You stare at me confused, but completely calm.  Your hair is perfectly braided, skirt neatly ironed, and  tea the perfect shade of sand.  You take a careful well-placed sip and put the cup back down.

“I don’t have any of your records.”

I take a swig of my coffee, which has dripped all over the saucer due to the near brim filling by the incompetent waitress; and my aggressive, somewhat psychotic over stirring.  They never leave enough room for milk or sugar.

“I want them all back now, without questions, without delay, without confrontation. I want back;

When I was Cruel

You Are Free

Teaser and the Firecat

Kill Them With Kindness

So Jealous

Head on the Door

Your Majesty

Plans

Yes, Virginia…

The 59’ Sound

Everything in Transit

Chase This Light

Louder Now

And every fuckin’ Smiths Album I own.”

You laugh a little, taking out and lighting a cigarette.  I know why you’re laughing, because you know the cases are sitting on my shelves; and the vinyls are safe in their sleeves. They have been there since the day you asked me for my key.  I gave you that chiseled piece of steel; so the least you could do is give me auditory relief.

You take a long drag and then an equally drawn out sip of tea.  You will be content to do this for hours.  I will not be getting anything back…in fact, I’m more than positive this will only have made the problem worse.

“Fine.”

You raise an eyebrow in curiosity.  I’ve rarely acquiesced so quickly.

“Keep the rest if you want, but give me back Morrissey and Marr.  Because those Irish boys know what sadness is, and I’m tired of hearing our memories in every line.”

*I wrote this quickly tonight, because I was too excited and didn’t want to stop the flow…i promise better in the future…atleast more literate, and better edited. I worked today, forgive*

Smiths t-shirt, circus guy and his balance skills + assistant, Babe, Terror.

In a lecture we had last week by the rather fantastic and insanely enthusiastic Claire Wardle, I was introduced to the phenomenon of Wordle.

It basically allows you to make pretty pictures by analysing text to see which words come up most frequently. The words which crop up the most are given greater prominence in the word “cloud” produced. Not that you do any of the analysing yourself, of course; that’s part of the wonder of technology.

It’s a fun way of comparing various stories or websites while essentially playing around with nice colours and words.

Here’s a Wordle picture based on the Daily Mail homepage:

And here’s one based on the Guardian homepage:

As you can see, the Mail has been focussing lately on controversy, abuse, arrests, students and sex, whereas the Guardian has been lending much more attention to the postal strikes, as words like “Royal” and “Mail” are coming up larger than the rest.

I’m a bit disappointed that the Daily Mail isn’t showing anything in larger letters, really. I wish the Express had an RSS feed, so that I could analyse it and see how much bigger “Diana” was than any other word.

I can, however, just use this from David Wulff’s Flickr to show the main basic areas of interest for the Express in a far more amusing fashion:

I’m not really sure about the practical journalistic uses for Wordle, but it’s definitely a lot of fun, and it does make really, really pretty pictures.

And you can use it for useless but funny things; like everyone else, I’ve been getting a fair amount of enjoyment from Wordling (is that a verb?) song lyrics. For example, the lyrics to ‘There is a Light That Never Goes Out’ by The Smiths yield this:

I think that speaks for itself, really.

I want to talk about Morrissey. I get sudden bursts on inspiration to listen to Morrissey, and then find it takes me atleast a fortnight to move on to anything else. When his new album was released earlier this year, it took me two months to listen to anything else. I’m not even a die-hard Moz fan, though I think I may becoming one. I came to him late, admittedly, I even came to The Smiths late. Largely because I wasn’t around when they were, but most Smiths fans atleast discover them in the throws of puberty, not so much with me. Unfortunately, in my early teens I relied on either escapism or the completely unsubtle, certainly avoiding all things poetic. Moz didn’t really come into the equation untill I was about 16. Since then every few months I’ve had some kind of urge to blast him out and hide away in my room, or go for long walks in the dark with my headphones in. It’s a pathetic kind of self indulgence, but atleast that way I’m not inflicting the strange moods that usually accompany these occassions on anyone else. But everytime I listen to him, particularly if I watch him as well, the strength of feeling is as much as it was the first time I saw William, It Was Really Nothing on Top Of The Pops 2.

Yet I still don’t know why. I’m still not quite sure what it is that makes Morrissey so special. There’s definitely something, I just can’t put my finger on it. I get goosebumps whenever I see footage of grown men reaching out to hold his hand, or charging the stage for a fleeting hug. I can think of nothing else that can reduce even the apparently hardest of men to gibbering wrecks of emotion. It’s sort of beautiful.

I have a few semi theories about what it is that’s so appealling about Mozza, none of which are complete or all inclusive, admittedly. Firstly, Morrissey is often heard to say that he never “performs”, often to much scorn from whoever provoked the comment in the first place. But I really do think that’s true. Watching him, it’s not really a performance, I don’t think he’d ever let himself ‘perform’ as such. It just isn’t in his nature.

Connecting to that, I think he’s painfully honest, which I like. He has a sense of humour found in a lot of northeners, particularly Mancunian men. It’s dry and slightly cruel, and a lot of people don’t get it straight away, but that means that when you do, it’s that bit more appealling.

One of the most obvious reasons that he’s so endearing, is that his music has always been incredibly emotional and atleast apparently personal. To hear that from his quirky, nerdy looking self in his Smiths days, or from his relatively typical (if considerably more handsome than most) older self now, are both so different to the type of musician you’d normally hear such heartfelt howls from. As well as that, he’s pretty outspoken, and will undoubtedly make his feelings known to you. Whether you agree with his beliefs or not, the fact that he holds them so strongly and will fight for them, that’s so rare from anyone in the public eye these days that it’s hard not to feel warmed.

When I heard that Morrissey had collapsed on stage in Swindon on Saturday night I was terrified. I was immediately thinking that I hadn’t had enough time with him, despite the fact that his music will live on long after him, and also that I’ve still not had the chance to see him live, one of my goals for the next few years. Thankfully, he seems to be on the road to recovery. The world is not ready to live without him just yet, it seems.

It was a disaster. Except that it wasn’t. I should have checked a bit more carefully. Should have been a bit more pushy. Should have made sure. Except that I didn’t.

The invitation to the opening never came and I never visited before tonight as I knew I should. So when I turned up tonight at 6:30 p.m. to the city centre pub I had been touting as the new home of my Sunday night conversation and found it more than a little closed, I wasn’t very much surprised. Disappointed, yes. Especially as this week I’d arranged for a thousand postcards to be printed advertising this as the venue for a conversation for spiritual people who don’t do church. Oh foolish boy. If only you’d checked.

So I hurriedly had to revert to my former venue. Posting a temporary notice at the advertised venue, I decamped to the Fleet. Only to find it was quiz night. Not a very conducive environment for ‘spirited conversation and skinny ritual’ as my postcards and event on Facebook had promised.

But still there I was. After one of those hugely enjoyable ‘are you a real priest?’ conversations with a group of quite inebriated young women, I found that four people I know had joined me. And, bless them, they really engaged with tonight’s topic: how soon is now?

Strangley (in)appropriate given Mozza’s recent poor health. But we began with the ‘skinny ritual’ that was in danger of fattening those who participated. A bowl full of large, dark, chocolate buttons. I invited my guests to eat one. I joined them. I commented on how we’d all munched them up quite quickly and then invited them to join me in just letting one melt in the mouth.

The point? I referred to the notion from the Christian Tradition of ‘the sacrament of the present moment’. We talked about how much our work and the education system pushes us ever onward; forces us to feel inadequate – underachieving. It was a cycle we all found hard to break and yet was ‘complemented’ in a strange way by a common capacity for distraction and idleness. Neither frenetic, pressured busyness nor indolent distractedness enabled any of us to be present to the here and now: something we all desired, especially as we’d all had little tastes of it from time to time.

We all reported moments of ‘flow’, when deeply engaged in an activity it had seemed that the flow of time had been suspended and we’d entered an eternal, deep present moment: like Fry’s state after 100 cups of coffee in Futurama. These moments were a rare treasure.

We touched on the scope for self-forgiveness and celebration of achievement over failure and the frustrations of unrealistic expectations – most especially those we placed on ourselves. Perhaps a key to this was the ability to see today – now – as a new moment of opportunity where past failures and future pressure was forgotten in favour of what we might achieve and be in the here and now.

It was deep man. And good. I enjoyed it. I hope those who came did too. I think it might have done exactly what it said on the tin.

Here are the discussion topics for the next few weeks:

• Who wants to live forever?
• Why does it always rain on me?
• What’s going on?
• Who’s in the house?
• Is there something I should know?
• Where is the love?
• Wouldn’t it be good?

All I need now is the right venue…

C’è un racconto, nel libro, che si intitola “Meduse”. E’ il secondo della raccolta, dopo “Il prologo” (che funge da prologo pur essendo un racconto anch’esso). E’ molto breve e, in un certo senso, è stato scritto su commissione. L’ho scritto infatti durante un concorso in cui si doveva creare un brevissimo racconto (max 2550, spazi inclusi!) secondo una traccia data e con un tempo prestabilito. La traccia riguardava un amore finito e l’ultima frase recitava così: “ma c’è qualcosa che non scordo…”. E’ venuta fuori questa tranche de vie un po’ triste e un po’ cattiva, ed è nata un po’ per caso, dopo aver tirato fuori, dalla memoria e da elaborazioni precedenti, un’immagine molto vivida, e che credo sia nella memoria di un po’ tutti, o almeno di quelli che da piccoli andavano al mare. L’episodio si è svolto sulla spiaggia delle Ghiaie, a Portoferrario, durante uno dei miei tre anni di esilio forzato all’Isola d’Elba (il purgatorio degli insegnanti livornesi).

Era di maggio. O forse d’aprile. Un bel pomeriggio assolato. Qualcuno faceva già il bagno, ma la maggior parte delle persone si accontentava di prendere il sole. La spiaggia delle Ghiaie, come suggerisce il nome, è una spiaggia sassosa, formata da ciottoli bianchi e levigati con delle macchioline più scure. Secondo la leggenda, le macchie sarebbero gocce del sudore degli argonauti sbarcati a Portoferraio in cerca del Vello d’oro. Ma questa è un’altra storia. La mia è più semplice. Davanti a me osservavo dei bambini che giocavano sulla battigia: raccoglievano delle piccole meduse (la mareggiata della notte ne aveva spiaggiate parecchie) e le portavano sopra ai ciottoli per farle sciogliere al sole. Ho pensato che da piccolo l’avevo fatto anch’io. La ricerca del nemico, spesso, termina con la cattura del più debole. Durante questa lunga operazione, le loro mamme, a una certa distanza, si spalmavano l’olio solare e chiacchieravano con le amiche, gettando ogni tanto un’occhiata ai figli, assicurandosi che non toccassero le meduse con le mani ma solo coi retini. Questa indifferenza verso la morte (seppure di qualcosa che sembra più una gelatina alimentare che non un essere vivente) mi ha colpito. E scrissi questa poesia (durante gli anni d’esilio all’Elba  ho scritto poesie e non racconti):

Piccole bambine bionde

sollevano le gonne

raccolgono meduse nel palmo della mano

le sciolgono al sole.

Le mamme ridono intanto.

Morte crudele di essere inferiore

non tocca coscienza

né cruda né marcia.

A distanza di poco, ho elaborato questa poesia e ci ho scritto una canzone in inglese, un po’ nello stile degli Smiths. Si apre con l’immagine delle bambine bionde che sciolgono le meduse, vi ho aggiunto una strofa su dei bambini abbronzati che staccano le zampe ai granchi, e ho basato il ritornello sulle mamme che, indifferenti, si spalmano la crema solare. Questo è quello che ne è uscito. Si intitola Mummies (mummie o “mammine”):

Little blonde girls raise their skirts and

gather jellyfish in the palm of their hands

and melt it under the summer sun

and melt it under the summer sun

Mummies around them put sun cream on, put sun cream on

Mummies around them put some cream on

To prevent their skin from skinning

To prevent their face from shrinking

Day after week after month after year

Day after week after month after

Little tanned boys catch small crabs and

Hold them tight in the palm of their hands

and slowly pluck their legs one by one

and slowly pluck their legs one by one

Mummies around them put sun cream on, put sun cream on

Mummies around them put some cream on

To prevent their skin from skinning

To prevent their face from shrinking

Day after week after month after year

Day after week after month after

Mummies around them bless their freedom, bless their freedom

Mummies around them bless their freedom

And –  watch – their – little – sons – and – daughters

Cruelly – killing – harmless – creatures

Watch their little sons and daughters

Cruelly killing harmless creatures

And la-a-augh outloud.

Quando mi hanno dato la traccia del racconto da scrivere, ho avuto subito l’immagine delle meduse, solo che dovevo riadattarla alla storia d’amore. Allora ho tolto i bambini, le mamme, e ho messo in scena soltanto una coppia, in uno di quei momenti rivelatori che, chi ha una storia d’amore da un po’ di tempo, dovrebbe conoscene bene. Il racconto che ne è uscito fuori è diverso dalla poesia e dalla canzone, ma ne conserva la visionarietà, credo. Lo pubblicherò, PER INTERO, nel prossimo post, visto che ora devo uscire. Staserà sarò al Teatrofficina Refugio a vedere Livorno Pulp, scritto e diretto da Viola Barbara.  Viola è il nome. Barbara è il cognome. Sono curioso.

Keeping with the theme of boats, here is a rather idyllic way to spend an evening: kayaking in Harrington Sound.

See it on the map